


Lowercase Q

by mcschnuggles



Series: Schnugg's Regressuary 2020 [8]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, CGRE - Caregiver/Age Regressor, Caregiver!James, Gen, Regressing!Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcschnuggles/pseuds/mcschnuggles
Summary: James almost dies and Q needs reassurance.
Relationships: James Bond & Q
Series: Schnugg's Regressuary 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621609
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48
Collections: Regressuary, Regressuary 2020





	Lowercase Q

When James Bond walks through the door, miraculously alive, the only thing Q wants to do is punch him in the face.

Q has spent the last few hours convinced of James’ death.

He saw it with his own eyes, watched the bullet pierce James’ chest, watched him drop like a stone off a bridge. And here he is. Waltzing back into Q’s office like there isn’t a single thing wrong. Dropping his ruined equipment on Q’s desk like it’s meant to uncork wine bottles instead of monitor his heartbeat. Like Q didn’t immediately launch into panic mode the second James’ vitals went offline.

“You can fix it, right?” James has dark circles under his eyes.

Q responds with a single glare, his eyes boring into James’ forehead. There’s a bloody streak across his hairline, where the enemy managed to get the drop on him and kick him into a brick wall.

James’ faces softens, just a little bit. No one but Q knows the creases of his face well enough to notice the change. “You can’t be that upset with me, can you?”

Q intentionally turns his head away. He’s pouting, he’s well aware, but he doesn’t care. He started to slip the second James dropped off his radar, and he’s been fighting the tide ever since.

He can be big. He can be capable at work for as long as he needs to. But this isn’t a situation where he needs to. James doesn’t deserve his maturity right now.

He doesn’t say a word and he slides a scrap of paper over the desk. He exaggerates the maneuver he has to make around James’ discarded equipment, just to emphasize how frustrated he truly is.

_See you tonight. – q_

James dares a glance up. Something flashes in his eyes. Q can’t tell if it’s mirth or irritation. “I assume this is a demand and not a request?”

Q nods, then deliberately turns back to his laptop, effectively dismissing James.

He hears James huff, the slightest exhale through his nostrils. It’s halfway between “I’m humoring little Q” and “I’m fed up with big Q’s shit.”

There’s a long pause before James finally answers. “Very well.” He moves to leave, but stops at the last second. “You can fix this, right?”

Q doesn’t bother dignifying his question with a response.

While Q doesn’t have much work for today, that doesn’t mean he has _no_ work. Easily, he has five more hours of work ahead of him, giving him plenty of time to stew.

He can feel himself getting poutier by the minute, which may explain why agents and Q-branch workers alike are avoiding him when possible. To James, it’s a look that’s “cute.” To everyone else, it’s one of the most powerful people in MI6 looking for a reason to go on the warpath.

James had better give him the best evening of his life to make up for this stunt. Anything less than ice cream before dinner, two new stuffies, and two movies, one of which should at least be rated R, would do nothing to placate his regressed self.

He waffles between two and three movies, and debates bargaining for takeaway as well. It’s enough to keep his mind occupied as he guides 002 through a reconnaissance mission in Russia.

He gets back to his apartment at half past seven, which turns out to be just enough time to feed his cats before James arrives.

When James steps through the door, his anger dissipates. Dissipates, and returns with a vengeance.

His chest is a sticky mess of conflicting emotions, bubbling with rage and freezing him from head to toe. He wants to break down sobbing in James’ arms and throw him out at the same time. He wants to have the biggest strop imaginable. He wants to just be held and told that everything is okay now.

James sees the way he hesitates, the same way he sees everything. It only makes Q all the more upset. Why does he have to be so damn perceptive?

Q distantly notes that he hasn’t moved since James stepped into his flat, stuck watching the other man like an emotionally distraught deer in the headlights, but only after he realizes James is moving for him.

Half of him wants to pull away, the other half wants to run into James’ arms. Neither side wins, and he’s stuck frozen in place.

“Shh, Q.” James pulls him in for a hug.

His hand is large and warm, cupping the back of Q’s head, but Q decides that is the last thing he wants right now. He squirms out of James’ hold. “No.”

James pulls back, immediately giving him space. It makes Q’s blood boil. “What’s the matter? Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Would you like to watch telly?”

“No.”

James gives him a wry smile. “I’m sensing a pattern here.”

And one more just to be cheeky. “No.”

“You’re safe, Q.” James reminds him. He rarely gets cross with Q, especially in times like these, where it’s so painfully obvious that Q is hurting and needs reassurance. He doesn’t even flinch when he reaches out to stroke Q’s hair and Q furiously bats his hand away.

He doesn’t want to be touched, especially not by James. But he’s hungry and hurting and he’s been waiting for so long, that it all comes tumbling out before he can stop it. “It’s not me I’m worried about, you git!”

While James’ face is usually an impenetrable mask, something in that sentence cracks it. He’s more expressive with Q, sometimes even venturing a smile, but the way his eyes widen, even for him, is unexpected.

Q keeps going. “You could’ve bloody died!” Q cries. “You could’ve— _I_ could’ve—” He doesn’t even realize the waterworks have started until he’s crying too hard to speak.

This time when James scoops him up into a hug, he doesn’t have the strength to protest. “You didn’t have to feel afraid.” James speaks into his hair, using that low, sweet tone that’s so rare for him. It only confirms to Q how unprecedented his outburst was. “It was no different from any other mission.”

No different? _No different?_ Doesn’t he realize that’s the problem?

“I’m scared on _every_ mission you go on!” Q cries. The icky feelings bubble up in his chest again, and he lashes out, feebly beating his fist against James’ shoulder.

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?” James sounds genuinely shocked, and maybe even a little hurt.

“Because you’ll never bloody retire! Trouble follows you, and God knows you love your job too much to ever consider anything less than throwing your life on the line any time MI6 comes calling!”

The silence crashes between them, a yawning chasm so wide that it threatens to swallow everything whole. James doesn’t speak, even as he guides them both to the couch. Distantly, Q feels one of his cats nuzzling up against his leg. Poor things can’t possibly understand why Q’s screaming, but they’re doing their best to comfort him.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” For the first time that Q’s ever heard, James’ voice is unsure, small almost. Finally, the great James Bond is left submerged in a situation he is wholly unprepared for.

And for once, Q doesn’t have the energy to reassure him. “For how much longer?”

“Q…” James doesn’t have any words beyond that.

“I’m tired of being scared.”

James pulls back, moving his gaze to the empty space between them. His eyes move, flitting from space to space like he’s physically looking for his next words.

Despite himself, despite the fact that he’s still sobbing, Q grins. He doesn’t see that of James much when he’s out on missions. No, out in the field, the thrill is in improv, of putting things together from the top of his head and planning his next movements to reinforce whatever he’s said as truth. It’s cute, to see James struggling for words, if only for its rarity.

“Do you want me to quit?” he finally asks.

Q blinks. He doesn’t recall ever hearing James say the word “quit” before, let alone with the words “do you want me to” placed before it.

He must have misheard, because there is no way _James fucking Bond_ of all people just volunteered to quit because Q shed a couple tears.

“Pardon?”

“If you wanted me to quit, I would. We could skip town, go off the grid, get false identities in a new country. All you have to do is say so.” When he reaches up to brush the hair from Q’s eyes, Q doesn’t resist. “And know that I would never take on a mission if I didn’t know I’d survive.”

Q snorts, the motion of which is enough to send the last of his tears rolling down his cheeks. “And here I thought you didn’t have the gall to lie to my face.”

“No lying, just an amazing amount of self-confidence.”

“I’m not going to ask you to quit. Not now, anyway.” Q sniffles, a little more loudly than necessary. “But I do want ice cream for dinner.”

“Absolutely not.”

Well, it was worth a shot. “Takeaway?”

James chuckles. “Only because I don’t like cooking one-handed.” For emphasis, he leans forward, pressing his and Q’s foreheads together. “Because I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

This time when James pulls him in for a hug, Q hugs back, and it’s only then does the built-up stress and fear and anger come melting out of him. Because he’s got James undivided attention.

Even if it’s only for tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> mcschnuggles.tumblr.com


End file.
